I Am the Pirate Queen
by calledbyname
Summary: Mephis gives his sister a lesson in formal attire and the rich and varied history of the SaDiablo family. Set during Heir to the Shadows. [Oneshot]


**A/N:** I love Mephis because he's so little looked into. I mean, the guy's lived longer than anyone else but Andulvar and Saetan, and he fathered the SaDiablo bloodline, and he spends all of books two and three playing second fiddle to Lucivar. So I'm spreading about some Mephis-love.

**Disclaimer:** This is derivative of Anne Bishop's work and I take no credit for any characters or situations. No money is being made off this work.

* * *

"Mephis, these shoes are killing my feet," Jaenelle complained, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "Can't I wear something more ordinary?"

This was not going well. Mephis stifled a sigh, watching Jaenelle's discomfort. Her formal introduction into Little Terreille society two weeks ago had proven to be something of a disaster; Jaenelle's shyness in crowds and her unaffected manners, combined with her penchant for wearing clothing that was actually practical, had turned her into something of a laughingstock. Her swift return and the ensuing tears had driven every male in the Hall to rage on their Lady's behalf. Mephis, however, had been the first to realise that as long as Jaenelle continued to be the enchanting dark power around which all other points revolved, she needed to learn Court manners.

But judging from her woebegone expression, she needed confidence almost more.

"Because," he said quietly, "they make you look taller. Now, stand up straight."

Jaenelle complied quietly, eyes downcast in a way that worried him more than her grumbling ever did. He lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, but she was almost close to crying. The child recipient of too many stern lectures on proper etiquette was coming back, and she looked so diminished. "This isn't _me_," she whispered. "I don't _wear_ this."

Considering that 'this' was a pale green gown embroidered with cream-coloured falcons which contrived to make his sister look frail and sallow, Mephis could almost agree. But perhaps it was a memory buried in the fabric of the dress, some remnant of its former owner, that made him shake his head.

"You're wearing it now, Jaenelle, so obviously you _do_ wear it." She glowered at him, but he continued placidly, keeping his tone deliberately measured. "This isn't about changing Jaenelle into someone else. You're not expected to transform yourself into someone sweet and pretty and without brains, or hide the Jewels you wear."

Jaenelle was frozen; he looked away from her face, almost ashamed at the open proof that he'd touched a deep-seated fear. Mephis sighed again, needing something to distract her from the pain. All he had to offer her carried an echo of that pain- a memory from so long ago, a memory that had been coming to the surface since he'd taken this dress out of its storage trunk for Jaenelle to try on. He gestured for them to sit.

"Do you know who this dress belonged to?"

Jaenelle shook her head, eyes fixed on her lap as she fussed with the skirt, her face shadowed.

"It belonged to my granddaughter, Hedika. She was a Queen. She..." So hard to say, even now. "She died in battle."

Jaenelle's eyes were on him now, but Mephis instead scanned the tastefully decorated salon, one of the many unused places for social gatherings in the Hall. Almost lost in memory, he continued.

"Hedika was the middle daughter of three. Her older sister was the Province Queen, and her younger sister was the beauty of Hayll. Hedika, on the other hand, was wild almost from birth. I saw her first when she was eight, and she immediately recruited me as first mate on her pirate fleet. She was going to be Queen of the Sea, and rule over all she surveyed. The problem, of course, is that as an Opal-Jewelled Queen, she was meant to rule the local district. She knew it almost from birth, even before her Birthright ceremony. And the more her parents tried to prepare her for it, the more she pushed the other way..."

Jaenelle gently squeezed his hand as Mephis fought for words. How to explain Hekatah's rage at having a descendant prove so unruly when there was power to be gained for the SaDiablo family? Hedika's growing despair, faced with standards and expectations so far off from what she truly was that she couldn't possibly hope to meet them? The feeling that he alone of all the people of Saetan's lineage understood the young Queen, and his powerless to change things for her?

But this was Jaenelle. The explanations were unnecessary. She already knew.

"Then the war between Realms started. She was from Hayll, so naturally her family sided with Terreille. She was on fire, then, determined that she knew who was right and who was wrong, what should be done. Everyone pushed her aside as a troublemaker who got the people overexcited. The had a war to plan, after all. So when the attacks from Kaeleer reached into Terreille, and she told them that she was taking an escort and going to stay at the Hall in Dhemlan Terreille, everyone was a little relieved."

"She didn't go to Dhemlan," Jaenelle said softly.

"No. She didn't go to Dhemlan." Another pause. Another path of memory. "It took them a year to find her again. She was fighting back raiders on the northern coast. She said she was keeping up the war effort, sparing the army for the real battle. When they called her back to Draega, the Queen had to do it by charging her with operating a militia without leave. There was no other way to make her go there."

A regret, more softly. "I never told them that I was the one who taught her how to fight."

She patted him on the arm and he continued, picking out the memory-thread that had been coming back to him so quietly. A gift from a woman dead and gone for so long. The ghost of a smile crossed Mephis's face. "She arrived at Court in full armour. And the steward told her that she needed to change into attire more fitting for a Lady. And I remember, she turned to him so slowly and said, 'This is fitting for me. But a change of clothes will not make me less dangerous, to you or to anyone else.'"

Jaenelle was listening as intently as she ever could, now. "She changed into a dress, then. But it didn't change her, and they couldn't either. She kept fighting until her luck ran out, five years later."

She studied her lap with renewed interest, now. Mephis got up and extended a hand. "You don't need to be anything other than what you are, Lady. It makes you look pretty. It doesn't change you."

Jaenelle crinkled her nose. "Well, maybe not _this_, Mephis."

"No. But this is just for practice. Come on."

Grumpily, she got to her feet, unsteady in her new shoes.

"Shoulders back," Mephis instructed. "Chin up. Your posture should always be confident."

"Does it always have to be painful?"

"You're exercising a new set of muscles. Think of it as drill."

"Oh. Wonderful."

No matter how badly her first ball had been, Mephis concluded, the Blood of Little Terreille were still unprepared for Jaenelle Angelline. His sister, after all, was also a warrior Queen.


End file.
